Vampire Mine

Chapter Sixteen

Leave? Connor halted his advance on Marielle. His vision turned a more intense blue as his rage surged to a dangerous level.

What were those crazy women doing to his angel? The first night they’d taught her about blow jobs, and now they had obviously embroiled her in some sort of stupid drama that was supposed to make him leave.

Leave? Over his dead body.

His hands curled into fists. “What about yer training? Do ye intend to go into battle unable to defend yerself?”

She stiffened her spine in a gesture of strength, but the tears in her eyes told another story. “I can train myself.”

“Can ye teleport yerself?”

“Ian will take me. And he and Phil can protect me.”

“Ye’re planning to replace me?” She might as well have stabbed him in the chest. “Am I suddenly untrustworthy?” he bellowed.

When she flinched, he made an effort to tamp down on his rage.

He grabbed the bottle off the counter and drank the rest of the blood. It tasted awful this cold, but it helped cool his rage a little. His fangs retracted, but his vision remained tinted blue, a sure sign he was still on the verge of losing control.

He set the empty bottle down. “Do ye know what infuriates me the most? ’Tis no’ the damned nail polish. Nor the fact that those women have lured you into some sort of childish plot.”

When she didn’t respond, he turned his head to glare at her. “I gave you my word that I would help you, that I would get you back to heaven no matter what.”

Her face paled.

He advanced toward her once again. “And ye ask, nay, ye tell me to leave? Does my word mean nothing to you?” His voice rose to a shout. “Do ye expect me break my pledge?”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I expect you to leave.”

His jaw shifted. “Ye’re forgetting something.” He stepped closer. “Angels make terrible liars.”

Her mouth opened to protest, but before she could say a word, he clamped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her against his chest. She gasped.

“Yer heart is pounding something fierce.” He touched her cheek. “Yer heart doesna lie.”

A tear slipped down her cheek and he caught it with his thumb.

“Yer tears doona lie.” He dragged his hand down her throat, then farther down to cup her breast. “Ye tremble at my touch. Yer body doesna lie.”

He gently squeezed her breast, and she moaned. “At last, some truth coming from yer lips.” He kissed her lightly. “Now tell me if—”

The front door slammed open.

“She told you to leave, so go!” Brynley stormed inside, leveling a shotgun.

Bloody fool! If she pulled the trigger, she might kill Marielle. Connor teleported behind Brynley, ripped the shotgun from her grasp with one hand, and shoved her against the wall with the other.

She gasped, no doubt surprised by his vampire speed and strength. She attempted to move, but he kept her pinned.

“It was you, aye? Ye’re the one who painted my nails.”

Brynley grabbed his arm and tried to shake him lose. “Let me go, you undead creep!”

He slid his hand up to circle her neck, then leaned closer. “Doona ever mess with me while I’m in my death-sleep.”

“Fine!” Her eyes blazed with anger. “And you stop pawing the angel.”

He released her and stepped back. Holy Christ Almighty, was that what this was about? The women didn’t want him touching Marielle? He glanced at her. She looked miserable, with red-rimmed eyes. She’d gone along with their ridiculous plan. That could only mean she wanted him to stop touching her, too.

An icy cold wave swept through him, chilling him to the bone. “Agreed.” He walked outside.

Pain expanded in his chest, so sudden and so sharp it stole his breath away. Bugger. He’d thought he was too much of a coldhearted bastard to ever get hurt like this. Marielle had certainly proved him wrong.

He removed the shells from the shotgun and laid the weapon on the porch next to the house. The blue tint to his vision was completely gone now. No more rage. Just pain. And sadness.

He retrieved his cell phone from his sporran and called Ian. “Are ye coming to pick up Brynley?”

“Aye, in just a few minutes,” Ian replied. “I—uh, Vanda asked me to spend the night there as Marielle’s protector.”

“Nay. The job is mine. Just come and take Brynley. And . . . bring me some nail polish remover.”

Ian paused. “Some what?”

“Nail polish remover! I assume yer wife has some.”

“Aye. I’ll be there soon.”

Connor rang off and dropped the phone back in his sporran. Bugger. Ian was going to get a big laugh out of this.

“Connor?” Marielle’s voice sounded soft and hesitant behind him.

His heart squeezed in his chest. He didn’t turn around, didn’t want her to see the pain on his face. “Go back inside.”

“Are—are you still going to train me?”

“Aye. We’ll continue yer training and practice teleporting. We should be ready to face the Malcontents in a few more days.” He gritted his teeth. “Ye willna have to put up with me for much longer.”

There was a long pause, and he wondered if she’d gone back inside.

“Thank you for the glass angel,” she whispered. “I’ll treasure it . . . for as long as I’m here.”

Dammit, she made his heart ache. “I guess ye canna take it with you to heaven?”

“No.” She made a sad noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a sniffle. “I’m sorry.”

The door closed, leaving him alone on the porch. “I’m sorry, too.”

For the next few hours, Marielle remained determined not to cry. Connor stayed true to his word and continued her training, but he was cold and distant, barking out orders and never making eye contact.

He set up the wooden clock in front of the cabin. When she teased him that it looked more like a henge, he didn’t respond.

She worked hard for several hours and learned to knock down only one log. Her efforts were rewarded with a grumbled “Good.” No smiles. No pats on the shoulder. No twinkle in his eyes.

He held her stiffly when they teleported close to a hospital in Cleveland where a woman was dying in surgery. When he encouraged her to widen her scope and search out multiple deaths accompanied by horror, she led them to what turned out to be a violent shoot-out between two drug cartels along the southern border. With bullets flying around them and innocent bystanders falling in the street, he’d teleported them quickly back to the cabin.

She was visibly shaken, so he set her on the couch, brought her a glass of water, and told her to rest. She tried closing her eyes, but each time she did, the violent scene replayed in her mind. The screams of the innocent echoed in her head. The human world could be so cruel.

Dear God, how she wanted to go back to heaven! She missed the peace and love that had permeated her soul, the constant stream of praise and support that had always filled her mind. She missed her friend Buniel and her beautiful white wings. What if she never heard the singing of the Heavenly Host again? What if she could never fly again, feel the wind rush against her face, and see the stars twinkling around her as she soared through the heavens?

She blinked away the tears. She didn’t want Connor to see her falling apart. Ever since their return to the cabin, he had paced about like a caged animal. A few times, she glanced his way and discovered him looking at her. He always turned away, but not quickly enough that she didn’t catch the glint of pain in his eyes. His pacing continued until he retrieved his claymore from the closet and went outside.

After a while, she wandered over to the window to look outside. The nearly full moon shone down on the clearing in front of the cabin. Connor had erected make-believe enemies out of logs and bales of hay, and he was practicing with his sword.

No, he was more than practicing. He was slaughtering his pretend enemies. The force of his blows was frightening. The rage in his shouts pierced her heart.

“Connor,” she whispered, pressing a hand against the window. “I don’t belong here. I’m sorry.”

As soon as the women arrived, he teleported away.

“He looks so sad,” Marta murmured as she brought Marielle a plate of food.

“Of course he’s sad.” Brynley grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and popped the can open. “He got dumped.”

“Brynley told us about the pink fingernails.” Vanda sat on the couch close to Marielle and gave her a worried look. “I hear he was really pissed.”

“Yes.” Marielle set her plate of food on the coffee table. “But it wasn’t so much the polish. It was the way I rejected him and his word.” The tears she had held back for hours escaped and ran down her cheeks. “I didn’t want to hurt him.”

“He hurt himself when he fell for you.” Brynley walked over to the kitchen table.

“Shh,” Vanda hushed her. “He’s not the only one hurting.”

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy,” Brynley grumbled as she sprawled onto a kitchen chair. “We all know she had to dump him. I’m sorry that it hurt, Marielle, but it would have hurt a lot worse if you had gotten more involved with him.”

Marielle sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Marta handed her a box of tissues, then sat across from her in the rocking chair. “You’re not eating. You need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you in love with him?” Vanda asked quietly.

“Yes.” She wiped her face with a tissue. “A part of me wonders how it could have happened so quickly. But then I see him, and my heart feels like it will burst, and I think how could I possibly not love him?”

Vanda’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you love him? What’s it worth to you?”

She set the tissue box on the coffee table. “All love that comes from the Father is deemed worthy.”

“This is Earth,” Vanda said. “Everything we do here has a price. Even love.”

“I would never seek love for financial or personal benefit.”

“I’m not talking about money.” Vanda gave her a stern look. “How much are you willing to sacrifice for your love?”

Marielle swallowed hard as she finally understood Vanda’s question. How much did she love Connor?

To Marielle’s dismay, Connor continued to remain cold and distant on their fourth night together. He set up the clock, then yelled different times from the front porch. Three o’clock. Seven o’clock. She was supposed to react by knocking down only the log that corresponded to his order. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes not. With a frown, he announced she wasn’t ready yet.

A small voice inside her celebrated, and it occurred to her that if she was slow with her training, she would have more time with Connor. But then she chastised herself for being selfish. The Malcontents were feeding and killing every night. They needed to be stopped.

When she sensed a number of deaths in Colorado, Connor linked minds with her for a few seconds to go there. The last reported location of the Malcontents had been in Kansas, so it was close enough that he wanted to check it out.

But the deaths were the result of a collapsed mine shaft, and the area was swarming with media. Connor didn’t want them to be noticed, so he quickly teleported them back to the cabin.

Was it just her imagination or did he hold her longer than necessary when they arrived? She stood very still, hoping the few seconds could stretch into an eternity, but he eventually let go.

On their fifth night of training, she worked hard to improve, and with a sad, hollow voice he claimed she was ready. She didn’t feel like celebrating, either.

She sensed multiple deaths coupled with fear and horror in a mountainous area in Arkansas, so they teleported a short distance away from the incident.

They landed beside a two-lane road that wound through the mountains. Gravel shifted under her feet, and Connor grabbed her arm to steady her as she bumped against a metal guardrail.

“Careful. There’s a precipice there.” He motioned to the other side of the flimsy metal railing.

They were standing on a narrow shoulder beside the road. Marielle winced at how close they’d come to missing the road altogether. It was dark, the only illumination caused by the nearly full moon and stars. All she could see was the black-topped road, a steep tree-covered incline on one side and the rocky precipice on the other.

“This way.” Connor started down the road, staying on the narrow shoulder. “I can hear the cries.”

She walked behind him as the road made a big curve around the mountainside. Then she heard the cries, too. She stepped onto the pavement, so she could see around Connor. Down the road, where it twisted in a dangerous horseshoe curve, a car had crashed through the guardrail and careened down the precipice.

“Two are dead. But three are still alive.” She tugged on Connor’s arm, pulling him onto the road. “Come on! We have to help them.”

“Ye canna touch them.”

“You can. You have super strength and speed.”

“Verra well.” He reached into his sporran. “I’ll give you my phone, so—”

Lights suddenly brightened the road. Marielle spun around to see a huge eighteen-wheeler truck zooming around the bend and hurtling straight for them.

A horn blared. Brakes screeched.

Connor shoved her out of the way, and she fell onto the next lane.

“No!” she screamed. Connor was still in danger of being hit.

“No!” She scrambled to her feet, then realized why Connor was still standing in the truck’s path.

He was frozen.

The truck was frozen.

Time had come to an abrupt halt.

No sound. No horns or screeching brakes or cries from the car accident down the road.

No movement. Silhouetted against the nearly full moon, a bird was frozen in mid-flight. The expression on Connor’s face was frozen, his eyes blank and not seeing. His arms were still extended from tossing her out of the way.

A chill skittered down her spine, and she pivoted, searching for the one who had manipulated time. As far as she knew, only a few beings could accomplish such a tremendous feat. The Heavenly Father and a few of His most trusted Archangels.

Or a very powerful demon.